Page 42 of Maybe (Mis-shapes #1)

EZRA

As predicted, Jonty loved Isaac’s flat. He’d never slept in a place so nice.

He moved from room to room, examining everything, always asking Isaac lots of questions, like how close he lived to Buckingham Palace and whether any famous footballers lived in the same block.

As though inspecting the cleaner’s dusting, his little hand swept over the smooth walls and solid furniture, across the top edge of the television.

He stroked the stack of thick towels in the bathroom; he sniffed Isaac’s branded shampoo.

At bedtime, after finishing Kevin the Vampire for the millionth time, the inevitable happened. “Daddy, can we stay here a bit longer?”

“’Fraid not, buddy. It’s too far from school, for starters. And from Faizan’s house. We can’t smell his mum’s samosas from here.”

Weighing things up, Jonty chewed on his lip. “Yeah, but it’s so much nicer than our flat. Look at this.” He fiddled with the light switch next to the bed, dimming then brightening the overhead pendant. “We’ve never had a light like that.”

Jeez, how to make a father feel inadequate. “I’m trying to get us sorted with a better place. Nearer your mum’s.”

His eyes lit up. “Will it have pillows like this?” He patted the one under Pandora’s massive head. “And a bed with a padded headboard? And a park over the road, like the one here, with those nice dogs walking in it? And a lift that doesn’t stink of wee?”

“I’m doing my best, mate.”

Of two flats I’d visited this morning, one had a view of a skip and the back of a crematorium.

The second had a junkie slumped on the steps.

I’d declined to view it. “Not sure I’ve got the cash for a flat overlooking a park like this one.

I’ll make sure it doesn’t have any mould on the walls, though. ”

“My chest is much better here.”

“I know.”

He lowered his voice. “And Isaac’s really nice, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. He is.”

Isaac stayed up late, revising for next week’s exam that he didn’t want to take and might not pass, in order to decline a career for which he was unsuited.

If only I could unravel that conundrum. When he joined me, I was half asleep.

But I soon woke up as he pottered around the bedroom.

I became instantly alert, in fact, when he hauled his shirt up and over his head.

“Mmm, hang it in the Louvre.” I pillowed my arms behind my head, as he coloured and flicked me the V sign.

“Everything okay?” he said pointedly, hanging up his top.

“Yep.” I threw him a lazy grin, the slide of my hand in a downwards direction under the duvet unmistakeable. “It is now the show’s started.”

He huffed. “Hope you didn’t buy an expensive ticket.”

Unbuttoning and unzipping his chinos, he stepped out of them before folding them onto a chair.

His plain navy boxers outlined his arse and bulge beautifully.

His chunky, sensible watch followed, rattling into a dish he kept on top of a chest of drawers, specifically placed there for that purpose.

Then he sat in the chair and peeled off his socks.

“I’ve got a season ticket for a seat on the front row,” I answered with a smile. “Worth every penny.”

He balled his socks. “Not exactly Magic Mike , is it?”

“Better, babe.” His gaze skated over to where I had my hand. “I reckon you could touch my eyebrow and I’d sprout an erection.”

I ducked as he aimed the socks at me. “You’re weird.”

Next, he plugged his phone into a charger; mundane, routine stuff, yet still I didn’t look away.

More than sexual arousal had my eyes glued to him.

This thing I wanted with Isaac wasn’t going to be a series of opportunistic, crazy mad fucks against any available surface.

It wasn’t his style. Since making love to him last night and again this morning, I wasn’t sure it was mine, either.

Nothing about his evening routine was designed to draw me in: not him scratching under his arm, laying out his fresh undies for tomorrow, nor retrieving his balled socks and chucking them in the laundry basket.

And yet my throat caught with the intimacy of it.

Watching every commonplace movement felt like watching him expose a little more of his heart, cementing the rightness between us. And I wanted to be a part of it.

“Don’t turn the light off,” I said as he approached. “I like looking at you. You’re beautiful.”

“I think that should be my line, shouldn’t it?” He climbed into bed, and I reached for him. “I see how people check you out, Ez.”

“What? Like I might nick their wallet if they turn their back?”

“Like you’re way out of my league. And you know it.”

“What are you talking about? There is no league. You’re mine, and I’m yours, Isaac. And watching you undress like no one’s watching, like you’re alone gets me hot as hell. So shut up with the self-deprecating bullshit and kiss me.”

He did, softly. Not thirstily, like on the sofa, but little sips, tasting me, building up to more but taking his time.

And why not? We had all night. Every night, if I could just work out how to balance a few minor details.

Such as Jonty, his mother, school, and friends, Isaac’s career, our fucked-up shared family history. My obstinacy.

Pulling me towards him, Isaac deepened the kiss.

His fingers curled around my neck as one of his solid legs entwined with mine, the rough hairs a delicious coarse scratch.

When his other hand came between us, outlining the hammer-hard shape of my damp dick pushing through thin cotton, I wriggled away, seconds from detonating like a dropped can of Guinness.

“There’s condoms and lube in the drawer,” he breathed. “And I want to use them.”

“What?” Make that two cans of Guinness. I gave myself a firm squeeze. “You’re redefining slow here, Isaac.”

Fuck, already Isaac was pushing down his boxers. “A boy can change his mind, can’t he?” His heated gaze bored into mine. “And I’ve locked the door. Jonty’s already asleep. I checked before I joined you. He’s snoring. Listen, on the monitor.”

He’d done little else since leaving the hospital. I guess fighting for breath was hard work.

“If you don’t want to, Ez, then…”

“Fuck no. Of course I want to. Jeez, Isaac, you don’t need to question that.”

“So, tell me how you like it. Though, knowing you, I think I can guess.”

“Yeah.” I gave a shaky laugh. “You’re right. I like to top. But I bottom, too. If it feels right. I’d always bottom for you if that’s what you wanted. What do you prefer?”

Though I posed the question, the answer stared me in the face, from how he tensed, from how his anxious gaze slid away from mine.

“Hey, look at me.” I kissed him, his lips parting without hesitation.

So pliant, so soft. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of them.

When I pulled away, I cupped his chin. “You’re right—a boy can change his mind.

We can just kiss, if you like, hold hands, go to sleep.

Or stick to hands and mouths; I’m never averse to a side quest. Whatever you’re comfortable with. ”

“I want…” He sucked in a breath. “I like bottoming. I’d like to try it now. But I haven’t prepped or waxed or… done whatever else I’m supposed to.”

“Fuck all that,” I answered briskly. “I’ll never shame anyone if it gets messy. It’s an arsehole. We’ve all got one.”

“Yeah, but… I’ve only done it a couple of times. It definitely got me off, at least when I relaxed into it. I hated myself afterwards, though. I felt a bit… I don’t know… used.”

A flush of protective big brotherly anger surged through me. Which insecure gay wanker shored up his own fucking bullshit gendered notions of masculinity by bottom-shaming my Isaac?

“Forget that right now, Isaac. The guy was doing it wrong if he made you feel that way. I could degrade someone with a kiss if I put my mind to it, not that I ever would. Or I can call the shots from the bottom. Listen, I’ve been fucked plenty of times.

Having a big horny bloke begging to pound me feels about as masculine as it gets. ”

Isaac gave a shaky laugh. “I’m not you, though. You’re gorgeous, and you know it. You can dictate how you want things.”

“Yes… but… Isaac.” I kissed his worried face. “Good sex isn’t about what goes where. It’s about how someone makes you feel. Both during and afterwards. Especially afterwards.”

And I’d make Isaac feel like a God, or die trying.

I triple checked the door, turned up the volume on the baby monitor, then laid down a towel.

My dick was still hard and throbbing, a testament to how fucking gorgeous Isaac looked, naked on the bed, waiting for me.

We kissed awhile. Then I fondled his balls, cradling the weight of them, rolling one ever so tenderly between finger and thumb.

As I did, I talked to him. Nonsense really, but at least it chilled him out and got him back in the mood.

When his dick plumped up again, leaking, I sent an inquisitive finger on a fishing trip behind. Isaac raised his knee higher with a pleasured sigh to give me more room, then squirmed and flung his arm across his eyes.

“Hey, none of that.” Gently, I pulled his arm away. “I want to look at you.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not. It’s sex, and it’s good. Relax, babe.”

I began gently with one probing finger, kneeling between his open thighs. When I added another, never taking my eyes from his, Isaac made a satisfied sound and raised his other knee. My dick pulsed as I reached for more lube. If I’d been waiting for a green light, Isaac had switched it on.

“Fuck, that feels nice.” He giggled, unexpectedly, his cheeks flushed. “What would you do if I asked you to stop?”

I laughed too. No way was that happening; he was enjoying it too much, if the trail of wetness puddled on his belly was any measure. The boy was born to bottom; he simply hadn’t met anyone who knew how to worship him properly. “I’d stop, of course.”